


Down Time

by Magnetism_bind



Category: SPECTRE (2015)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Carrying, Established Relationship, M/M, Memories, Quiet Sex, Reminiscing, Rimming, Scars, Sex, Trust, Trust Issues, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5199077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond decides to make the most of his supposed down time. Naturally he chooses to spend it with Q.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down Time

There’s no light on inside his flat but Q knows the man waiting is there before he places the key in the lock. He pushes the door open and closes it behind him, not looking at him yet. Q flips the switch first, letting light into the shadows.

Bond is seated on his sofa, half sprawled over the cushions. Shirt collar unbuttoned, tie loosened. There’s no sign of a drink anywhere, which makes Q curious. Normally there’s alcohol involved before Bond approaches him. It’s part of the pattern.

“I thought you had somewhere to be.”

Bond doesn’t answer. His face is half turned from the door, cast in darkness.

“You’re supposed to be gone.” Q drops his keys in his coat pocket before he slips it off. He hangs it up, waiting for the quip, for whatever comes next. What does come next in their…what word is theirs? Arrangement? He settles on arrangement. Relationship is something belonging to other people. People who want someone there when they come home at the end of the day. Q’s never been that sort of person, and he’s always assumed Bond was of the same mind. Or at least he did.

Bond hasn’t moved from his seat on the sofa. He merely looks at Q and Q looks back.

“Do you want me to go?” Bond asks abruptly. His fingers go to the already loosened tie before moving away again. For the first time Q wonders if Bond ever gets nervous. It would appear so. He finds this interesting.

“I hadn’t considered.” Q folds his arms across his chest. He considers it now.

There is no set schedule to this arrangement. Bond comes and goes as he likes, drifting in and out of Q’s life as he pleases. There’s no true stability, but there is a random pattern that gives Q a vague sort of balance. There is no flirtation at work. They remain completely professional because that is what they are.

Bond draws himself to his feet and straightens up. He’s always taller than Q remembers. Everything is slightly off from what he remembers. The familiar lean of Bond’s body slouches more, the way his hand presses against the doorjamb as he moves closer is more possessive. The alteration of these details keeps Q interested even when his brain withdraws from the mess that Bond leaves behind.

“Do you want me to go now?” Bond’s breath is warm, but not intoxicated. He’s close enough that Q could put his arms around him and pull him closer. If they did that sort of thing. Which they don’t.

“Not particularly.” Q says at last. He wants Bond to stay. He does.

Bond brings his other hand up and tucks two fingers inside the collar of Q’s shirt. The rough pads of his fingers brush Q’s collarbone and linger there like Q’s a cat he’s trying to entice closer.

“Good.”

He leans in, and his mouth finds Q’s. Q’s lips part automatically now. The first time they kissed Q had fumbled, unsure of the way things were, and Bond had laughed, before kissing him again. Now it’s habit. Now he knows Bond…or at least he knows the way Bond works. The way Bond kisses.

“Why are you here?”

Bond’s fingers press deeper into his skin. “You said you wanted me to enjoy my downtime.”

“And?” Q waits.

Bond strokes along his collar and then his other hand slides down to cup Q’s ass. This Q knows too.

“This is how I want to spend it.”

He starts undressing Q there in the doorway. Each button slips smoothly through the hole, leaving Q’s chest exposed. Next Bond’s hands go to his belt, pulling it swiftly through the loops. Bond unbuttons his trousers, and then with one quick zip, his hands shrug Q’s trousers down to a heap at his ankles, leaving him in his briefs.

Bond steps back and smiles. “Take your shoes off.” He discards his coat.

“You couldn’t bend over for that?” Q inquires.

“I like to watch you do it.” Bond undoes his cuff links in sharp succinct motions.

Q hides a smile.

He unties his shoes and slips them off. Drops his trousers on top of them. Bond’s already naked. He’s quick, he’s always quick. If he contains nerves, it’s not about his own body.

There’s something trusting in being naked in front of someone. The first time Q undressed in front of Bond he purposely didn’t compare their physiques. He didn’t look at his body next to Bond’s and think: _Why are you here with me? Is it because you like the feel of someone smaller? Someone who’s not a threat?_ _Is that why you’re here with me?_

If that’s how Bond thinks he keeps it well hidden, along with his emotions. He doesn’t even glance at Q’s briefs now lying on the floor.

Instead he catches Q up in his arms, lifting him up high. Bond slings Q’s legs over his shoulders, slipping his cock straight into his mouth. It’s ridiculous being carried like this, showing off Bond’s strength, but Q lets him, fingers curling through Bond’s hair. Bond carries him into the bedroom and lays him down on the bed, slowly drawing off.

Q lies there, watching as Bond stands in front of the bed. His scars are faded in his tanned skin. Q will never learn them all, no matter how long they keep this up. Bond will always return with some new knife gash, or bullet wound. He collects scars like Q goes through boxes of tea.

“Close your eyes.” Bond kneels on the bed.

Q closes his eyes.

The mouth on his cock is gentle. Q exhales. His shoulders gently rise and fall with the tension mounting and slipping away.  

The legendary prowess of Bond’s sexual skill isn’t underrated, but Q finds it almost sad that not many people know about this side of Bond. The svelte sexuality that Bond exudes when he enters a room is magnetizing, but usually directed at women. Mostly because the women knowingly respond to it. It’s a glossy layer of seduction. But underneath that, the level existing just beneath that, is the piercing drive of Bond’s that is willing to bring anything one desired to the forefront of one’s mind. Q had found it amusing from an observational standpoint. It was only when Bond turned that drive on him, that Q understood it. It’s compelling, it’s mesmerizing, and it’s annoying.

Bond does it on purpose. He does it subconsciously. It’s simply part of his natural skin at this point.

Now his tongue traces around Q’s cock, drawing him out of his mind with light teasing licks. Q’s arms are over his head, his eyes still closed. Bond slides his hands up Q’s thighs, slipping under his ass to suck at his cock more hungrily.

This is why Q can’t stop this. Because Bond is the only one who can reduce him to this simplicity. In that act he doesn’t make Q feel that the surrender is worthless.

Bond’s fingers curl around his hips drawing Q up until he arches and comes. Q shudders, collapsing back onto the bed. His chest is cold, his legs with Bond bent over them, warm.

Bond’s expression is smug against his thigh when he opens his eyes. Q places an arm behind his head, just looking at him. Bond rubs his thumb along Q’s skin. Gentle. Slow. Nice.

 _Why are you really here?_ Q thinks. _Normally you’d be gone already, off like a shot, bullet right out of the gun. Whistling silently through the air, gone gone gone._

But Bond’s not gone. He’s here, even though he’s not answering Q’s unasked questions.

Bond’s hand is a caress, soothing Q’s hip and backside. He strokes him gently, slipping his hand under Q’s stomach and rolling him lightly over onto his stomach.

“Just lie there.” Bond mouths his way along Q’s spine. Each press of his lips makes Q shiver inwardly.

His fingers glide over Q’s ass, allowing access for his tongue.

The first time Bond did this Q came within a minute. He hadn’t been expecting anything like that from Bond. He didn’t know what he expected, but not the subtle slick push of Bond’s tongue in his ass. Not the way he held Q down, licking him open until he fell apart.

These days Q has a little more control. But only just.

Bond licks and winds him up until Q is squirming on the bed, coaxed against his will to hardness again. This is what Bond does. This is how he stays in charge, and remains the best at what he does. Q flatters himself (if only privately) that this isn’t why Bond is shagging him. To keep Q doing what he wants. Bond knows he doesn’t have to do that, doesn’t he?

By the time Bond slides inside him Q is languid. Bond slides a pillow underneath his stomach, propping Q’s ass up to meet him better. Q’s palms spread flat against the sheets. He has no breath to gasp as Bond adjusts his thrusts. Each motion of Bond’s hips rocks him forward deliciously, even, and steady. Solid. That’s what Bond is, a rock standing against the tide coming in.

Q closes his eyes as Bond’s fingers hold his hips just so. Bond can keep going until Q comes again. He knows this. He doesn’t want to give in this time, doesn’t want Bond to win again. Not that it’s a matter of winning.

He counts to three, and then rises up on all fours, pushing back. The sea sweeping in faster, dashing against the rock.

“ _God_ , Q.” Bond sounds choked. His fingers grip more tightly as they move together. And then he comes, hands so tight on Q’s skin Q feels like he’s slipping out of consciousness, like it doesn’t matter in the slightest.

They land in a heap on the bed. Bond exhales and rolls over on his back. Now he’ll go. Q waits, already thinking of the things he put to the side earlier for this unexpected rendezvous,

Instead Bond smooths his hand over Q’s shoulder. He presses his lips to Q’s hair and stays where he is on the bed.

Q is lax in his embrace. He knows the breadth of Bond’s shoulders, the callouses on his hands, the spread of his thighs. When Bond is gone he doesn’t dwell on these things. But in close quarters like this, in the explicitly post-coital moments, he finds it impossible not to focus on them. Every singular detail about Bond spread out in his mind in perfect, fascinating clarity.

“You’re quiet.” Bond says.

There is a softness to the silence in the room between them. Q lies there, contemplating all the things he could say, all the words that seem pointless. What do they have to say here…what does anyone say in these circumstances? _Be safe. Come back._ He doesn’t say those to Bond, and Bond doesn’t expect him to.

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

Bond’s hand rests on his hip. “I’m figuring it out as I go.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Q murmurs. He starts to sit up but Bond merely pulls him closer.

“You’re keeping me safe.” Bond sounds as surprised as Q feels at this confession.

Q gazes at him. “By lying to my superiors?”

“Yes.” Bond gazes back at him. “By trusting that I will figure it out.” He lowers his head and places a kiss on Q’s shoulder.

“And how do you know I trust that?” How does Bond assume he trusts anything when Bond doesn’t trust anyone or anything?

“Because you wouldn’t lie for me otherwise.” Bond’s lips tighten against Q’s skin. There will be a mark left on his skin. Bond is indiscriminate about what reminders he leaves on Q’s body, but every once in a while there be will an intentional one. This is one such a mark. Q’s body tenses as Bond sucks harder, setting his teeth firmly to the skin.

When he draws back there’s a smile tucked in the corner of Bond’s mouth. Q draws Bond’s lips down to meet his own, keeping that smile for as long as he can.


End file.
